


Means of Refuge

by dedougal



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Animal Transformation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-25
Updated: 2013-05-25
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:29:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dedougal/pseuds/dedougal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes, Stiles is a cat. It's a curse until it's a little bit of a blessing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Means of Refuge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [heard_the_owl (heardtheowl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/heardtheowl/gifts).



> Happy birthday, heardtheowl. You are one of the loveliest people I've met in TW and I hope you have a lovely day. And I hope this is a little bit what you were looking for.

Stiles knows he’s stressed because his ears are peeking out. It’s always the first sign of his control wavering. He knew that finals and graduation and work and werewolf shenanigans would finally drive him demented, make him shift. It was like his body just decided that being spread this thin needed a little extra reaction that wasn’t him flailing or trying to replace his blood with energy drinks.

The curse could be worse. Stiles would be merrily wandering through his usual terror stricken life and then he’d suddenly be a cat. A cat who wanted to chase laser pointers and curl up on laps and sharpen his claws on furniture. There were a thousand pictures of himself snugged up on Derek’s chest, a tiny tortoiseshell cat allowing himself to be petted. When his control had been shot like that, he didn’t remember much or think much when he was a cat. A kitten, really. Now, at least, he could manage to stop himself from using Derek as a bed.

Stiles runs his fingertips over his sensitive ears. He kinda likes how people pet him when he’s a cat. It’s not like he gets a lot of hugging, other than from his dad, who doesn’t know he’s a cat sometimes. And the hugging only tends to happen when they’re all emotional. His ears feel nice under his fingertips, soft and fuzzy in a totally different way from his hair. Or the hair on his balls. It was closest in feeling to that.

Stroking his ears didn’t used to make his dick thicken though.

Stiles glares at the blinking cursor before pushing back from his desk. He’s alone in the house and he could use a little stress relief. He doesn’t have time to run over to Derek’s loft and spend the next four to six hours craving tuna and snuggles. He could just take the edge off.

Stiles doesn’t bother stripping, just multi-tasks: lies on his bed, unfastens his pants and shoves them down and lifts his shirt so he won’t get come on it. A couple of tugs and he’s well on his way, dick familiarly hard and already starting to send little waves of heat through his belly. His hand’s a little dry but the lotion is way over the other side of the room so Stiles just licks his hand. He can feel that his tongue is a little rough and he spends a couple of moments wondering what that would feel like on his dick as he wraps his slightly slicker hand around and jerks with intent.

He’d normally tug at his balls with his free hand but instead he brings his hand up and rubs it over his ear. It feels nice and Stiles feels a little strange that he’s basically fetishizing something that’s supposed to be a curse, a punishment for sticking his nose in where it wasn’t welcome.

That’s when the window slides open. Stiles freezes in shock for a moment that’s just long enough for Derek to gracefully tumble in and straighten up and stare at Stiles.

Sarcasm is the best route for Stiles. At all times. “Take a picture. It’ll last longer.”

He’s expecting Derek to return some kind of quip, a snark, even a threat. But Derek doesn’t. Derek stands utterly still and, just, focused. Laser focused. On Stiles. On Stiles’s dick. Derek’s shoot upwards almost like he realizes what he’s doing and he meets Stiles’s eyes, his gaze dark.

“Your ears…” Derek’s voice is surprisingly soft but it breaks whatever spell Stiles is under. Not the spell his dick is under. His dick is still very eager and hard and Derek being here and breathing all heavy and looking at Stiles isn’t making it any softer. It’s a nuisance to tuck back into his underwear and he has to sit up and pull his shirt down over it to hide the bulge. Not that it will do any good because Derek will still smell it. He hates werewolves.

“What do you want?” Stiles knows he’s blushing, blotchy and unattractive. He can feel it. Then Derek does one of those bizarre shifts and he’s on the bed, knees on either side of Stiles’s legs, his hand outstretched. Derek ran the side of his index finger over the velvety fur of Stiles’s cat ears. Stiles bit his lip to try and hide his low moan. His mew. Not a meow. He might be part cat but he’s still manly enough to deny that.

Derek isn’t touching him beyond a light press against his legs and the soft petting of his finger but it feels like Derek has his hands all over him, warm and shockingly gentle and Stiles has had a few nice thoughts in this general direction (normally without cat bits) and it’s really not helping in his pants situation. “Derek?”

“You sleep on me, all the time, when you’re a cat. You rub against my leg, jump into my lap if I so much as bend my knees. You purr like you talk, loud and constantly. It’s driving me mad, Stiles. Just mad.” Derek doesn’t sound mad. He also doesn’t stop the gentle movement of his finger. Stiles relaxes back against his pillows and Derek follows him down. Stiles can feel the warmth of his body, something he remembers liking as a cat.

He likes it when he’s himself as well.

Derek makes the kind of noise he usually makes when he’s frustrated with one of his betas, when someone’s put the empty juice box back into the refrigerator rather than into the trash. It’s a huff and a whine and it just screams vexation. Then he finally presses in and kisses Stiles, mouth slotting over his like he’s been practicing. Stiles freezes again, his heart loud in his ears, before he reaches up and allows himself to run his hands through Derek’s hair, down his back. He’s kissing Derek back and it’s better than anything he could have imagined. It blows that he’s not been doing this for months.

It gets even better when his hands find Derek’s ass and guide his aborted shifts into something like a rhythm. Derek’s hard and Stiles still is and Derek rubs his ear a little harder as he rolls his hips and it’s like every bit of his body is on fire, electric. 

Derek pulls back, reluctantly and slowly, while Stiles keeps petting him, trying to keep him close. “What? No. Don’t stop.”

“Stiles.” Derek sounds reproving. “We should talk.”

“We should make out. There should be orgasms. Give in to our animal urges.” Stiles makes a claw with his hand and waves it at Derek. Derek’s chin wobbles and he buries his face in Stiles’s shoulder and just breathes, his shoulders shuddering under Stiles’s hand. “I could blow you,” Stiles continues.

Derek’s hips jerk, once. “I could blow you.” The words are muffled in his shoulder and Stiles doesn’t know if Derek is just repeating his offer or making one of his own. It all becomes a bit moot when Derek starts kissing him again, rubbing his hands through Stiles’s hair and rocking his hips again and again. This is more like what Stiles needs, his dick liking the whole warm pressure thing. Derek’s tongue tangles with his for a moment before he pulls away to kiss down Stiles’s neck, his throat. And Derek proves he isn’t just a pretty face as he pushes Stiles’s t-shirt up out of the way and tugs at his pants and then Stiles’s dick is out and being jerked by Derek’s warm palm.

“You like this?” Derek asks, his mouth warm and wet at Stiles’s ear. Stiles can’t do much more than nod and grab and Derek’s shoulders to ground himself. There is no way he is going to last, especially not when Derek sticks his tongue out and licks roughly across the sensitive skin. 

Stiles lets out a low, long and half embarrassing noise as he comes, hard and sudden. He feels claws replace his fingernails and then vanish just as quick as he covers Derek’s hand. He is still breathing heavily when Derek lets go and fumbles with his own pants, kissing Stiles again like he wanted to crawl inside him. Derek shakes a little as he jerked himself and Stiles had to – “Let me see,” he whines.

Derek’s cock is red and thick and it’s nice to see that Derek isn’t pulling any punches. He balances above Stiles on one hand, looks Stiles straight in the eyes as he jerks. His mouth’s open, panting, as he loses himself, coming over Stiles’s belly, Stiles’s own sticky cock. Derek has used Stiles’s come as lube to jerk himself off basically and that, what with the warm come, makes Stiles’s toes curl again.

Derek falls to the side, eyes never leaving Stiles as he held his dirty hand clear of the sheets. They should wash up and talk about what happened or something. But instead Derek lifts his hand and strokes over Stiles’s cat ears one more time. Maybe someone else has a little fetish. 

Stiles stretches and then there’s that inevitable pop and he’s a cat. A kitten. An adolescent cat. He should be pissed but it’s warm and Derek smells amazing and he’s really sleepy all of a sudden. Derek’s chest is really comfortable (although Stiles makes sure to knead it a little with his claws before he lies down) and he starts to stroke through Stiles’s fur as Stiles settles into place.

Derek drops a soft kiss between Stiles’s ears before he lies back and provides the perfect pillow.


End file.
